


an infinity of you and i

by denizenofthedarkbackstage



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Soulmates, Time Travel, sun and moon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28154223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denizenofthedarkbackstage/pseuds/denizenofthedarkbackstage
Summary: all was golden when the day met the night...
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. a beautiful word; a human word

Sometimes, people are just meant to be…

Ever since time began, even before it had a proper name, there has been love. Every species has some form of it, of course, the birds that fly beside each other and the cats that intertwine their tails to make sure their favorite partner will never let them go. Human love, though, is by far the most powerful. It is raw and all-consuming, burning brighter than the stars, however long or short its duration. Some loves are celestial- people whose bond is so strong and real, so deeply felt, that they outshine the whole night sky.  
When a love like that, a celestial-bright connection, comes along, it makes the gods unhappy. Perhaps they’re jealous of the radiance shared by the lovers, or of the power that it grants them, for we all know that a love pure and shared can make its recipient almost invincible. Perhaps it stems farther back, to the curses of mythology, of Cupid and Psyche, of Orpheus and Eurydice, lovers so swept up in their feeling that the gods intervened to tear them apart. So many things are as they have been in history, so many things are damned before they begin, so why should love be any different?  
Two mortals have found their own such connection. They meet for the first time in a place of solitude and warmth and soft starlight, beneath the hanging branches of a tree they both consider respite. They make quite a pair, the cynic and the idealist, the rebel in love with his cause and the rebel without one, as different as night and day. Perhaps we could call them the sun and the moon; our brilliant Sun burning with the fire of a thousand ideas and hopes and wishes, shining light on all he surveys, and our cold, darksided Moon, comfortable in darkness and loneliness and night, fallen into the Sun’s orbit and made brighter by his light. They are at once the perfect fit and perfect rivals, for everything that one is, the other is not, but what they do share- passion, fury, divinity- they share in abundance. Illuminated by a cosmos not yet learning how to dim itself, their souls connect as they speak and learn about each other and begin to fall. It is sudden and strong, overwhelming and honest, and burns so bright the gods take notice.  
And they grow jealous too.

Grantaire sat in the garden of his family’s house, beneath a weeping willow tree. The trunk was solid against his back, occasional glimpses of the night sky visible through the leaves over his head. The garden, with its statues and carefully tended flowers, made a quiet haven, only rare snatches of laughter and song from the party roaring inside audible. A single lantern cast its light in a sparse ring, just enough for him to see; fortunately, there wasn’t much to see. The festivities inside were always loud and overwhelming, and too often left him with a headache he couldn’t shake, so after making the rounds of pleasantries and uncomfortable small talk, he’d taken a lantern and a bottle of wine outside to his refuge. It was much more peaceful out here, the sky a deep blue shot through with stars and the noises of the party a comforting reminder of proximity to people, a reminder that he wasn’t as alone as he might have felt, instead of a throbbing drone.  
Though his proper, formal clothing was already disheveled, he couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty for dirtying it, the swath of deep blue fabric he’d wrapped around his shoulders dragging in the dirt and bits of leaves that covered the ground. The late summer evening had begun to cool off, and the wrap combined with the wine left him with a warmth occupying his chest, even as the rest of him was left cold.

A lightning bug flew into the sheltered canopy of the tree, flashing its tiny light as it circled his head. Grantaire couldn’t help but smile- he’d loved the tiny, bright creatures when he was a child, and seeing one even now reminded him of the happiness he’d felt when he was so young. They used to wish on them, on dark nights where stars and the little insects were their only light, tossing handfuls of wishes out into the open sky until it was so pitch-black that they couldn’t see their hands in front of their faces.   
Grantaire had always considered himself a cynic, but as the lightning bug drew closer, his lips parted, about to unleash a wish he wasn’t entirely sure he’d even thought. He’d given up on wishing; if something couldn’t be accomplished by earthly power then there was no purpose in hoping for something greater to accomplish it for you. Still, out of old familiar habit he closed his eyes, resolving to wish whatever the first idea occurring to him may be.

I wish I could find a little light. I’m so tired of being alone in the dark.

While it was pleasant enough to sit outside as the party raged indoors, it could get rather lonely to just sit in the darkness with no one else around. He extended a hand towards his lantern, not wanting to touch the side but trying to absorb its warmth. His fingertips brushed the hammered copper, and the heat made him jerk back with a hiss. He never had been very good at learning from his mistakes. Grantaire had burned himself on the lantern many a time, trying to feel its brightness, its presence, deep within his soul. The lantern itself was delicate, swirls formed over its panels to allow the light to form patterns of shadows. It was his favorite possession by far, for the panel that was solid, unchanged, but for a cutout of a crescent moon. Though it didn’t bring him much light, there was something intoxicating about watching the flame dance through the paper, drawn ever more solidly into its brilliance.

Soft footfalls sounded in the distance, and Grantaire looked up, curious. Perhaps he once again had the misfortune of overhearing a couple who’d slipped away from the party for a little privacy. He took another sip from his bottle and tried to ignore it, hoping that whoever it was wouldn’t disturb the peace he’d managed to find for himself.

Someone pushed aside the curtain of leaves hanging from the tree and stood in the opening, carrying a lantern of their own. “May I sit in here?” The stranger spoke in a young man’s voice, mellifluous and brighter than the glow of the light he carried.

Grantaire gazed up at him, feeling a blush rushing to his cheeks. The young man who had intruded upon his respite was smiling, golden curls hanging around his face like some kind of halo. He wore a cloak of deep orange, almost red, with a clasp of bronze, shaped like a sun. “You may.”

The young man stepped properly under the cover of the tree and sat down, not at its roots beside Grantaire, but on one of its thick, low-hanging branches. His feet in their boots dangled slightly over the ground, and he cocked his head, giving a genuine smile. “Thank you. May I ask your name?”

“Grantaire. But most people just call me R. May I enquire as to yours?” He reached up and ran a hand through his dark hair, one strand curling slightly as it fell into his eyes. The light of two lanterns brightened up the little space beneath the tree, somewhat, and the dancing shadows gave the whole thing a strange, ethereal feel.

“Grantaire.” He pronounced the name slowly, letting every letter of it take the same weight of importance, then extended a hand, clasping his for a moment. “Mine is Enjolras. So, why are you out here instead of celebrating with everyone else?”

Grantaire lifted his bottle to his lips again, giving it a moment before answering. He wanted to seem as though he had other things to do, other things besides stare at the young man who’d come to sit by his side. “It’s rather crowded inside the house, crowded and loud. Thoroughly overwhelming. Out here I can sit and drink and watch the stars in silence.”

Enjolras blushed slightly, flickering shadows from the lantern moving across his face. “That does sound nice. I can leave, if you’d rather---”

“No!” He coughed, then looked over his shoulder, so he could meet his eyes. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind the company. I’m afraid this is all I have in the way of refreshments, though.”

He glanced down at the glass bottle, amusement lingering at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose we could share, if you didn’t object to it.”

He passed it over to Enjolras, who accepted it, and as he did, their fingers brushed. The touch took up barely a fraction of a second, but R could have sworn it stopped his heart still in its tracks. “No objections here. Have you been living here long?”

“No, I’m new to the city.” He leaned back against the trunk of the tree, taking a sip of the wine. “I’m not invited to many parties, actually. I’m sort of a rabblerouser, so some people are rather hesitant to associate with me.”

Grantaire let himself smile a little, and stood up. “I’m not afraid of a little trouble.” He gave a rather undignified hop and sat beside Enjolras on the branch of the tree, taking the bottle back and swigging from it. There was something thrilling, illicit and delightful at once, about drinking from the same bottle as Enjolras, feeling the slight warmth to the glass where his fingers and lips had been. Talking to this man he’d only just met was so much like the lanterns by which he found himself fascinated- warm and intriguing, but with more than slight possibility to be dangerous, leaving him burned and in the dark once more. 

Enjolras returned the smile, scooting ever so slightly closer to him. “What are your favorite parts of living here? Seeing as I’m new, I’d like to find out what the best things are.”

“Well, there’s a wonderful taverna, about half an hour’s walk from here, and a group that stages plays in the park on Saturdays. Sometimes there are markets and performances.” He let his right hand drift from the neck of the bottle, resting open between them. 

He reached out and placed his hand in Grantaire’s, and Grantaire found himself struggling to remember how to do anything but sit frozen, Enjolras’s fingers warm and certain against his own. Breathing, and keeping a heart beating, were supposed to be the easiest thing in the world, things a body could accomplish without conscious thought, but this couldn’t be true, because if it were, Grantaire wouldn’t feel as though every molecule of oxygen had just been stolen from his lungs. “Do you go often?”

It took Grantaire longer than he wanted to admit to regain his composure enough to offer a response. “Every few weeks, usually on my own. Why?”

“I thought, perhaps- forgive me if this is a wild presumption indeed, but- you might be willing to show me around it this Saturday.” 

“I believe that’s something that is entirely possible.” Hesitantly, he laced their fingers together, heart pounding in his throat like timpani.

“Grantaire?”

“Yes?”

“Can we step out from beneath the tree for a moment? I’d like to look at the stars.”

Grantaire stepped down from the branch, releasing Enjolras’s hand to push aside the leaves that hung like a curtain around the tree and stepping out into the cool night air. Tonight, the sky was so full of layers and layers of stars that its usual blackness was transformed into a blue deep and soft as velvet. If he looked long enough, he could connect them in his head, the constellations he’d memorized in his childhood and new ones belonging to stories yet untold.

Enjolras gave a quiet, contented sigh, tipping his head back to gaze up at the cosmos above them. “The stars are always so- beautiful isn’t the right word.”

“What do you mean?” He wrapped the length of fabric closer around his shoulders, protecting against the slight chill in the air. There was something about the night, and the sheer, overwhelming vastness of the stars, that brought with it a cold sharp enough to penetrate down to the very bones. 

“It’s not that they aren’t beautiful. It’s just that, I suppose, beautiful doesn’t seem a big enough word to describe them. It feels so human.”

“I mean, it is a human word. Language is human.”

Enjolras shook his head, one blond curl landing in the middle of his forehead. “The stars feel bigger than something human. When I think of beautiful, I don’t think of the stars. I think of people, or flowers, or works of art. They are something else entirely.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “I suppose I see what you mean. Looking up at the stars is like seeing a pathway into a whole separate world. If there really is some higher power, the way so many people believe, it should exist in the night sky alone.”

“Perhaps it looks down on us even now.” Moonlight, liquid and silver, cast Enjolras’s face into new relief- strong jaw, proud nose, wide eyes and that smile which seemed to have imprinted itself indelibly in Grantaire’s mind. “Do you think that God- if there really is one- is as benevolent as some stories say? Or are they cruel and uncaring?”

He shrugged. “Unfortunately, the zealot in me died some time ago. I am disinclined to believe that there really is anything out there, receiving our hopeless cries; if there were, I pity them greatly for the burdens of our suffering and sorrow.”

“There are so many atrocities committed, wars waged and young lives lost, and I don’t really believe that if there were a higher power, seeing us all, it would allow that to happen. Cruel, uncaring, sadistic, use whatever word you like; there is suffering abound, and anyone who will not do anything about it is worth no worship in my eyes.” The eyes in question blazed, if only momentarily, with a passionate and fervid fire, and Enjolras seemed to grow taller, back straightening and hands falling to his sides. 

Grantaire opened his mouth, but the words that gathered on the tip of his tongue were ones he wasn’t sure he could ever safely release. Perhaps they are unworthy of worship, but you are; you, a light in the blackness, outshining the stars, the god of my idolatry- the ravings of a madman, nothing that would be accepted, nor easily understood. If he were to speak a single word of what was passing through his mind, Enjolras would more likely than not never speak to him again, and though a part of him couldn’t bear even the idea of never feeling this deliriously lost again, a smaller part wanted to know what it would be like to see Enjolras’s face as he processed the words.   
Folly, foolishness, had never been things he’d been known to stray from, but something held him back from this particular precipice. Instead, he cleared his throat, nodding. “They are certainly temperamental at best, if they exist at all.”

The corners of his mouth quirked up again, in that enigmatic half-smile, and Grantaire found himself leaning ever so slightly towards him. “Temperament is so often hard to judge. It all comes down to a matter of opinion, I suppose.”

“Oh? And what is your opinion of my temperament?” He released a laugh, which he didn’t realize he’d been holding onto until its absence let him breathe again.

“Well, I can’t say I’ve seen much of it, though I’d like that to change.” They had left their lanterns beneath the tree, and though occasional spots of light pierced through the darkness that hung about them like a theatre’s curtains, the lantern flames shining through the leaves, Enjolras seemed to put out an incandescence all his own. “But it reminds me of the stars.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows, lifting his hand to gesture. He’d completely forgotten about the presence of the wine bottle until now, when liquid sloshed behind the green glass in his hand, but it was present and made a good distraction, so he took a drink. “The stars?”

He hesitated a moment. “The stars deserve a word I don’t feel I quite know, something bigger than this language can provide for us. I’m finding that you do, too.”

“Terrible,” he supplied, smiling slightly. “I believe that’s the word for which you search.”

“That isn’t what I mean.”

“I know.” This was a lie, plain and simple. The passing time had felt like a whirlwind, dizzying and catching Grantaire entirely off guard, enough so that he wasn’t certain what he could count on as being real. If Enjolras was actually flirting with him, that was an issue indeed, one he’d had no plans to attend to until tonight’s events. “And I would be happy to spend as much time with you as it takes for you to find the word you’re missing.”

He stepped a little closer to Grantaire, one hand moving through the night air between them. “Perhaps I won’t even attempt to find the word, then, so I can have more time to study you.” 

To the rhythm of his fluttering heartbeat, he took his own step forward, emboldened by a courage he didn’t feel. “Perhaps I won’t try to help you, then.”

Enjolras’s fingertips brushed his skin, and though Grantaire had been expecting the young man to take his hand, perhaps even pull him for a kiss- after all, they were almost entirely concealed by the friendly dark around them; the privacy of the garden shielding them- instead he wrapped his fingers around Grantaire’s bony wrist, the pad of his thumb pressing to his pulse, and R felt himself aglow.  
The pair of them stood facing each other for a long moment, nearly making eye contact but each slightly too shy, too self-conscious, to create that final connection. R was almost painfully aware of his own heartbeat, each pump running up from the place at his wrist that Enjolras touched and into his throat, leaving him lightheaded and dizzy. It was as if everything around them had faded away, if only for the barest of seconds, leaving them alone with nothing but the swirling cosmos behind them and between them. Perhaps the night was dark, perhaps a celebration was occurring just yards away; to the pair of them, it didn’t matter. For this moment, it was their two souls alone, connecting at the pulse with the most delicate of heartstrings.

Enjolras coughed quietly, releasing him, and that perceived brightness dimmed, returning Grantaire to his place standing tipsy and tired in the garden. “Time grows late, and I should begin to make my way home. But...if you were to be at that market in the square, on Saturday, I do not think I would forget to look for you.”

Grantaire had no idea of what to say to that, of whether or not he was even capable of stringing together words in any semblance of coherence, so he simply nodded. 

After another few seconds’ time, Enjolras turned and began to make his way up the flagstone path toward the road, and he stood, watching him go with one finger pressed to the inside of his wrist. He wasn’t merely checking to ensure that his heart was still really beating in his chest, though that was certainly a part of it. At the place Enjolras had touched, it felt as though he had left a lingering warmth, one that spread through his veins, finding a resting place in the tips of his fingers and the nape of his neck, the hollow of his throat and the emptiness in his chest.   
The night was still dark, stars swirling overhead, and a faint chill pervaded the air once again.

Grantaire had never felt such brightness and warmth before.


	2. Chapter 2

Saturday found Grantaire standing in the middle of the crowded marketplace, nervously pleating the fabric of his tunic between his fingers. Being surrounded by strangers always overwhelmed him, and especially today, as he waited for Enjolras to arrive, his heart had taken up residence in his throat. What if he didn’t come at all? It had seemed too good to hope, that he would find someone with whom he could talk of literature and legend and the stars the way he always did in his own head, someone whose hand fit so nicely in his own, and see him in the daylight again. The young man had come beneath the tree, into his little world, so quietly, so much without notice, and yet he’d shaken him to his very core. Had he only been a dream, a vision conjured by loneliness and wine? Of course it was too good to be true, of course there was no way on earth that someone as wonderful as all that could stay, could be real at all. Magic seemed to have a way of only appearing in the nighttime-- at least, all the legends he’d read in childhood said so-- and he closed his eyes for a moment, the sunlight warm on his face as he made another silent, useless wish, that the magical spark from a few nights before wouldn’t completely disappear.

“Hello. I’m so sorry, I did not intend to be late.” And when Grantaire opened his eyes, there Enjolras was, smiling at him as he fixed the belt on his tunic. He looked exactly as he had days ago, if a little more relaxed, and this appeased R’s nerves somewhat. If he was here, just as he’d remembered him, he had to be real.

“Don’t worry about it. I was up early, and I--” Had spent hours pacing his room, twenty minutes deciding what to wear, then walked to the market a full hour early just on the off-chance that Enjolras arrived early too; had been petrified that the other would leave if he wasn’t there exactly on time. “Had nothing better to do,” he finished, feeling his face heat.

He laughed a little and reached up to tuck a blond curl back behind his ear. As R watched him, a shiver ran its course down his back, though the day was warm and the sun beamed down around them. “I was up early as well. Worried I wouldn’t be able to find my way here. Shall we look around?”

“That sounds like an excellent plan.” Grantaire managed a smile, calming the screaming nerves in his chest to a dull roar.

So the pair set off, headed closer to the white fabric stalls, towards the sound of haggling voices and laughter and merchants calling out their wares, aromas drifting from food vendors and perfumers alike. There was nothing quite as alive as a market-- it was like the heart of the city, each day sending new life into the buildings and streets and people, making it all feel wonderfully awake. It was the perfect place, R reflected, to take someone who had made you feel awake for the first time in a long time.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know this existed before,” Enjolras remarked, pausing at a jewelry stall to peer at a hammered gold pin, shaped into a sun. “It’s beautiful.”

“I used to come every Saturday,” R mused, standing beside him and fingering the entwined threads of a necklace. “I don’t make it down to the city as often as I’d like anymore, but it’s still one of my favorite places.”

He turned toward him slightly, a real smile crossing his face. “It must be so nice, to have memories and traditions built up in a place you’ve known so well.”

“It is,” he admitted.

“Do you find new things every time you come, or does it always feel the same?”

Grantaire paused to think for a moment, though composing his thoughts was hard when Enjolras was mere inches away from him. “It always felt the same, before...and there was some comfort, perhaps, in the familiarity, but it was never terribly different. But there is something to be said for revisiting old haunts with a new soul beside you. It makes you see things in a new light, and notice details that you might never have noticed before, or simply taken for granted.”

Enjolras nodded. “It means a lot.”

“What does?”

“That you would share this with me.” He gazed down at the pin, which he was still touching, fingertips tracing a delicate sun ray. “Something that obviously has such a place in your heart...thank you for bringing me here.”

He felt himself smile, the pressure in his chest releasing and moving warmth through his whole body. He wanted to tell Enjolras that he himself occupied a place within his heart, that he wanted nothing more than to share this with him, but instead he bit his tongue and just nodded before changing the subject. “Are you going to buy that?”

“No, it’s a waste of money. Shame, though, it’s pretty.” He gathered himself, continuing forward.

Grantaire made to follow him, then stopped and doubled back, his boots scuffling slightly in the dirt. He checked to ensure that no one was watching, the stallkeeper distracted by a conversation, then wrapped his fingers around the cloak pin and tucked it into his pocket.   
He wasn’t sure what had driven him to take it, exactly-- sure, he’d stolen before, did it for the thrill or because he couldn’t afford it (or anything), but was he trying to impress Enjolras, perhaps? Keep it because it reminded him of the unattainable boy walking a few steps ahead, even once he’d decided he was far too good for him?

The pair had drifted, in silence, toward the edge of the market, away from the noise and the gathered crowd, and now Enjolras paused, turning to face him again. “I know you said there were plays in the park. Would you care to walk over and see one?”

“Yes,” he replied, the words coming out in a relieved exhale. If they went to see the play, they’d have something to do, even if for Grantaire, the thing in question would be watching Enjolras watch the performance, taking the excuse to stare at him. 

“Or…”

“Or?”

“Well--” and he was surprised to see Enjolras bite his lip, slightly, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “I like talking to you. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather find a place to do that, than sit and watch something in silence.”

R, usually blurting words with no thought to their consequences, found himself speechless, enough so that he made an awkward choking sound as he nodded. They moved further still from the crowded square, and as they picked their way along the dirt road, Grantaire gained enough confidence to decrease the space between them-- here bumping his shoulder against Enjolras’s, there allowing their hands to brush for the briefest of seconds. Every touch felt like being struck by lightning, heart slipping in its proscribed measure and breath catching over and over in his throat. Still, he couldn’t stop, addicted to the speeding of his pulse, obsessed with the faint blush Enjolras wore, growing ever stronger as R’s resolve to avoid doing something he’d regret weakened second by second.

The sun had grown stronger overhead, bright enough that his heavy tunic and cloak were beginning to grow uncomfortably hot. Though he didn’t say it aloud, Enjolras seemed to notice he was on edge; he gestured a few feet ahead, at a small marble building that appeared cut into the side of its hill. “How about here? There should be ample shade, and we can talk without interruption.”

Grantaire took the stone steps two at a time by way of response. He half-hoped he’d stumble, begin to fall, so that Enjolras would have to catch him, help him up, lay hands on him in any way at all. Unfortunately, his ascent of the stairs occurred without incident, so he entered the building and gazed around. There was no one else inside, nothing truly inside but the scent of incense and a strange, cool lightness, as though someone had left a window open just out of view. Banners of embroidered cloth hung from the walls, high above their heads, seeming to shift and change the longer he looked.  
“What is this place?” He inquired, sinking down to sit on the cool marble floor.

Enjolras looked around for another few seconds, then joined him on the floor, shaking his head. “No idea. I’ve never been in here before.”

“What do you do with your time, then, if you spend none of it in the markets or the city center?”

He stretched out his legs in front of him. “Study,” he replied, a smile beginning to cross his face. “I spend my time listening to scholars and philosophers, hearing thoughts and participating in votes and debates and-- oh, Grantaire, you should see it! To learn new ways of thinking, a thousand theories on who we are and where we come from and what our universe is made of… there’s nothing like it. Not in all the world.” Enjolras, as he spoke, seemed to entirely come alive, his eyes sparkling and his gestures growing wider, more impassioned.

Grantaire propped himself on one arm, leaning into him somewhat. “So you’re a scholar, eh? I should have known there was something wrong with you.”

To his delight, Enjolras actually laughed, hitting into him with his shoulder. “The only gift we have to give the world is our own original thought, and I intend to give all of myself, that my ideas will live on long after I’ve left this earth.”

“I got you something,” he blurted, fumbling fingers reaching into his pocket and closing around the cloak pin. “It’s not-- not anything, really, but since I’ve no original thought to give, not in any way that matters, this is what I have to offer.”

He looked down at the offered object, eyes widening. “You bought this for me?”

“Well, not exactly.” When Enjolras snapped his attentions back to him, he put up his hands, defensive. “I’ll return it, if you want me to, I just-- I know you liked it, and I didn’t have the money to get it, but it made you smile.” Making Enjolras smile felt like the most important thing in the world and, truth be told, he would have stolen anything to see him alight again.

“No, no, it’s alright. Selfish of me, perhaps, to want to keep it, but I do.” He ducked his head, hair hanging in his eyes, but even so, Grantaire could see that smile blooming across his face like a marigold in summer. “You know, you don’t have to go to such great lengths to make me smile.”

“I wanted to. Really.”

When Enjolras reached out to take the pin, his fingers brushed soft against Grantaire’s palm, and R, seizing his moment, caught the young man’s hand in his own. Enjolras gave a startled little inhale, but didn’t pull away; after a moment, he wound their fingers together. They interlaced perfectly, fitting one intertwined with the other like a key in a lock.

“I was afraid you weren’t real, you know,” he confessed, when a moment’s silence had passed, the both of them looking nervously down at their joined hands. “The night we met. I made a, a wish that I wouldn’t be alone anymore, and when I opened my eyes, there you were.”

“Maybe there’s a reason for that,” he replied, and when Grantaire looked over at him, it was as if sunlight had filled the small room, because Enjolras had turned that brilliance upon him and the budding flower in his chest had begun to unfurl. “It could be more than mere coincidence that brought me to you.”

Grantaire was merely moonlight to the shine of his sun, but all the same, he let his own smile reflect, feeling warmer for the effort. “Perhaps there should be more stock placed in wishes, then, if that’s what I get from one.”

“Sometimes,” Enjolras agreed, meeting his eyes, “it’s worth believing in something.” His gaze flickered briefly to R’s lips, and R swallowed hard, suddenly incapable of breathing. “Don’t you think?”

“I do, but I don’t think I should give you the satisfaction of being right,” he teased, hoping the joke would both put them somewhat at ease and help him regain a little conversational ground.

“Does that imply you intend to give me other satisfaction, Grantaire?” The tone of his voice lilted with mischief. R could only sputter for a few seconds, until Enjolras laughed, releasing his hand to fix the collar of his tunic. A thin scar traced its line up his cheek, illuminated by the oddly bright patch of sunlight in which they sat, and Grantaire wondered what it would be like to run his thumb over the scar, cup his face in his hand and kiss him until he could feel some of that sunlight melting over himself. 

Hesitant at first, he moved a little closer, sliding a few inches along the marble floor until his knee bumped against Enjolras’s side. He brought his right hand up, brushed the back of it against the other’s cheek-- heard his breath catch, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat-- saw his lips part slightly, and--

“Halt! What are you trespassers doing in the temple of Diana?” The voice echoed from behind them, loud and sudden as a shot. The pair of them leaped apart, scrambling to their feet. It belonged to a young woman standing in the archway at the back of the temple; she wore the vestments of a priestess of Diana, flowing white robes and a thin circlet of silver crowning her dark hair. “This is no place for men.”

Grantaire held out his hands, slowly, racking his brain for the proper excuse. “I-I’m sorry, oh priestess-- we were foolish, we did not know what was held within this building.” Cynic though he was, he’d read the myths, and knew what folly it was to be caught with a lover in a temple-- could he call Enjolras a lover, really? If they’d never kissed, barely even touched, if R was petrified every second that all of this would change?-- especially a temple dedicated to a goddess who had sworn a vow of chastity.

The young woman held her hands out in front of her, silver eyes almost glowing in the light. “Profaners of sacred ground, of places built for sanctuary-- punishment awaits you both.”

Enjolras took a step forward, but the priestess fixed him with such a look that he immediately moved backward again. It wasn’t a glare, but there was something of such power behind it that even Grantaire felt cowed. “A punishment?”

“One devised for two. Two lovers--” as the priestess spoke, R felt heat rush to his face-- “two souls, two… opposites. Sun and moon.” When she said this last, those moon-bright eyes widened, striking upon a realization. “As different as the sun and the moon. Though you burn bright, you cannot remain for long. As sun and moon pass each other, heavenly bodies in the sky, so shall you be. Passing each other day and night, never close enough to meet.”

“What do you mean?”

“The pair of you will move forward through time, through the unexplored and unfamiliar, kept apart. There may be stars, to light your way, but when one of you falls into darkness, the revolution will begin anew.” She brought her hands together, almost connecting, with about a centimeter of space between. “But, because there is always a condition, just as the sun and the moon meet in the sky for an eclipse, you two shall meet, again and again, until you can find a way to break free of the sky and fall into each other again.”

He swallowed, stealing a glance at Enjolras. “And what-- what if one of us decides their destiny lies outside this limited orbit?”

It may have been his imagination, but the priestess nearly smiled. “Your lights are connected. It is not as simple as you believe to dispel something as complicated as an orbit you share with another, and harder still to succumb to a darkness alone. Believe when you are told that your destiny lies within the stars.”

“Then I will meet you again,” Grantaire said, turning to face Enjolras properly. “When our stars, perhaps, are brighter.”

Enjolras looked tense, but nodded, and after a moment, he reached down and knotted his fingers through Grantaire’s as the world around them faded to black.


End file.
